


The Killers

by PaisleyWraith



Series: Dawn AU [5]
Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 02:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15160334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyWraith/pseuds/PaisleyWraith
Summary: Sent out into the woods to be the first to complete a hit on a Barbarian, Feldspar intended for this to be just another achievement to add to his long list of jobs. Getting into the untouchable forest was the easy part.





	The Killers

Darkness was a comfort. He was no stranger to shadow, preferring the security of the night to use as a cloak for any job given. 

However, this was something a little beyond his comfort zone. He was no longer in control, here, at the whim of a people and powers beyond his own abilities. These people were not normally even in contact with the mortals of Zaron, and yet he’d been contacted for a hit by a tribe. 

Who, he wasn’t sure. He'd first been contacted at pub in Balbeck, his hometown, and sent up through Elven country to the untouchable woods. He’d been met there by a cloaked figure, given instruction, a blessing, and half his payment. 

His payment, half given now and half when he got the job done. It was a wild haul, he was being paid more than he had for any other job, even thieving or mercenary work. Money wasn’t overly interesting to him, the interest lay with the place and job. And this was a very interesting job. 

Duath, the Elves called it, though he attempted to avoid the race entirely. An enchanted, dark forest, filled with tribes of Barbarian people ready to slaughter anyone who stepped in it. 

Unless you were invited. 

Craig stepped into the forest, and found the hooded figure within the next few hours. Everything had been dark, the figure had spoken to him only for moments, and then given a blessing. A promise that the trees and beasts and unspoken things of Duath would leave him alone and lead him to his mission. 

His mission was the chieftain of a rival tribe, someone causing trouble and whatever bullshit he didn’t care about. Kill him. Payment tripled if he brought back proof of death, a heart, a head, a hand. 

Feldspar intended to cut off a lock of hair and call it a day. Anything more wouldn’t quite be worth it. It was obvious it was Barbarians against Barbarians and these people were absolutely psychotic. 

Alright. It was time to start planning. Craig pulled his cloak over his lower face, moving silently through the thick brush. He crouched, still unsure about whether he would be spotted, considering he wasn’t even sure where the camp was. He had to decide how he was going to do this, without even seeing the place he was going to strike. 

These people. There was a large debate on what race they were: Elven, Orc, Human. There were even rumors of them being dragon-people or something, and regardless of what race, they were unnaturally tuned into the world around them and the most brutal beings on earth. Even more than Elves were supposedly. 

The Prince-King of the race had tried to level the Keep years ago, but that was with an army, with politics. Barbarians would slit open your throat and drink your blood. For fun.

Anyone this crazy would have to be handled carefully. But he was getting bored, there was little left to see, and Craig was looking forward to this new challenge. No one had ever seen the inside of Duath and lived. It was something he was committing to memory. 

There was light, the pitch black nothingness rumored was absolutely false. What little light existed, however, was pale blue, and seemed to come from between the leaves of the trees, and yet Craig had a feeling that it wasn’t from the sky. 

Everything was in shadow, and deathly quiet. No birds, no rustling wind, nothing but stagnant, damp air. 

Craig’s boots made no noise as he continued onward. He had to trust in the ‘blessing’ that would lead him down a path to this leader’s camp, and he wasn’t into the business of trusting anyone. He felt like he was traveling on forever, forever, with nothing to lead him to the right place. 

He paused, smelling something different in the damp air. He lowered himself, inching forward, straining to hear anything. Branches lazily draped across his path, and a large stake was driven into the ground inches from him. 

Craig waited, slipping forward slowly, and pressed his lips together as he looked up grimly. 

A head, settled on a spear. Human, or something resembling human, innards trailing down like scarlet ribbons and rot hollowing out the eyes and face. 

He was definitely getting close, then. This had to be the border for the camp, if they were warning people away. 

In any other place, Craig would get off the path and approach from a different angle, but here he wasn’t given much of a choice. The brush was too heavy to move aside, almost like the forest itself was guiding him along the set path. 

He was in a crouch now, cloak dragging along the dirt. He’d left his bow and arrows behind, the clatter of the weapons would just give him away. All he had was his dagger, as well as whatever else he could find around him once he was in position. Not that it mattered. No one in the world was as good as he was. No one. 

He could hear voices now, harsh and chattering, the smell of a campfire. The trail he was one suddenly diverted harshly to the right, and Craig followed where it took him. 

Finally the brush cleared somewhat, he was on the edge of a heavily-covered clearing. Craig lowered himself even further to the ground, nearly sitting in the damp dirt, peering through the brush to get a look at everything. 

Tents. They were well-built but temporary, made of skins and sewn together. There was a huge fire in the middle of it, taller than Craig, built in rocks and with spits for roasting meat around the fire but not above it.

What people he could make out in the dark were few. Most people must be inside. He looked for what he was told to, a larger tent, more isolated from the rest. 

He continued along the path, keeping a close eye on the chattering Barbarians watching the fire and sitting on the ground. They didn’t look like they were much worried about looking for anyone, and Craig finally decided to delve into the brush. 

He slipped under low-slung, twisted branches, crouching in long grasses to wait a moment before stepping into the clearing. 

He was now exposed, he realized, the light was filtering in through the trees and brightening what the fire’s light didn’t reach. He was clothed in dark colors, hood pulled over his face, and crouched in the shade of a tent. 

Barbarians had an intense sense of smell, sight, hearing. No matter if they looked human or not, they were not normal. He’d have to be careful. Feldspar was the greatest thief to ever live, he needed to do this quickly and quietly. 

The tent was carefully stitched together. Next to it was the outline of what was turning out to be a wooden building twice the size of the tent. Like they’d just moved to the location. 

Craig redirected his eyes to the tent. He’d have to go around to the front and sneak in within sight of the Barbarians by the fire. Or. 

Nearly sitting on the ground, he inched forward, one hand bracing himself on the grass as he stopped next to the tent. 

He slid out his knife, something elegant he’d stolen years ago, thin, long blade attached to a handle created with glass, made to look like a starstruck sky. Beautiful, seemingly delicate and strong enough to crack through bone. 

Feldspar, the Greatest Thief, leaned against the tent, the tanned leather skimming his cheek as he listened for any noise. Nothing, save a light snoring. He hoped this guy didn’t have a wife, because he’d have to kill everyone in the tent. 

Craig brushed his hand over the surface, holding the knife against one of the stitched seams. He smoothly slit the seams, opening enough of a gap for him to slide through. 

He sat on the ground, waiting, quiet, knife in both his hands and head tilted, listening. The Barbarian Chieftain’s breathing never stuttered, and he took a quick inventory. 

A particularly nasty-looking axe was set on a cloak, a hammock suspended between two posts, furs covering the person curled up in it and nothing else inside. It was nearly bare. 

He’d stick with the knife. Axes didn’t always kill quietly. 

Craig slowly stood, fluidly, striding forward in silence. The Chieftain was buried under the furs. He’d have to be quick. At least it looked like he was alone. 

Feldspar threw the furs aside and brought the knife down. 

Hands grabbed his wrists, impossibly strong, keeping the blade from inching closer to his heart. 

Craig met the eyes of the Barbarian Chief, wild and enraged, one off-color and baring crooked, ugly teeth. 

He was in a hammock, this ought to be easy to stop, and Craig moved to step on the hammock side and tip him right into the blade. 

As soon as he was on one leg, the Chief, with a grip only on his wrists, threw him onto the ground. Craig landed hard on his tailbone, swiftly moving to stand, but the other was already out of the bed. 

The Chief screeched, angrily, guttural and animal-like. Pale hair awry, he flew at Craig without taking a moment to breathe. 

Craig predicted trying to throw his hands aside and aim for the throat, but the man didn’t come straight at him. He came at him and _jumped_ , pulling his hand aside with abnormal strength and directing all of his weight on the assassin. 

He made a mistake. He realized that somewhere along the time where they rolled, outside the tent out into the open, exposing Craig to everyone standing outside. 

No one jumped in, and Feldspar working up a leg to kick him in the solar plexus. 

The Barbarian choked and Craig rolled them, straddling his chest and poising the knife. He had to kill quick, and get out. Barbarians were just standing around, watching, not making a move. Craig saw this in the corner of his eyes and disregarded them for the moment.

The Chief didn’t hesitate, grabbing his leg and sinking his teeth into his thigh.

“Fuck!” Craig swore, shifting only slightly, but that was enough. 

The next moment he was shifted as the Chief sat up, dislodging the thief’s weight despite being taller than the…the kid. A hand was around his throat and he knocked it aside, feeling the wound on his thigh split and bleed through his trousers as he gracefully gathered his feet under himself nonetheless. The next moment he was stabbed in the other leg, the Barbarian somehow had his own knife in his hands, and brought the butt of his up to knock the underside of his jaw. In the span of seconds. He moved insanely fast. 

Craig fell on his back, and the Barbarian had the knife pointed at Craig’s throat. Looking very satisfied, the kid looked down at him as he breathed heavily, the tip of the knife cutting into his throat. 

“Who are you?” The Barbarian’s voice was loud, his face made small, involuntary twitches as he spoke. “How did you _get_ here?”

Time to de-escalate the situation and see if he could take the situation back. 

“I’m Feldspar,” He said, careful and even. Boredly as possible. 

“And how did you get here?” The Barbarian grit, pinning the thief down. 

Craig said nothing, careful not to struggle. His eyes flit back to the bystanders before he looked at the Chieftain again, covered in striped tattoos and shirtless, exposing a scrawny body that honestly shouldn’t be as strong as it was. 

“You weresenthere to _kill_ me,” The Barbarian hissed, digging the knife in further. “If you want to be left alive, you better say something.” 

Please. “I’m not afraid of death,” Craig’s told him, gaze unwavering. 

The boy- and he was a boy, he didn’t look older than Craig- had two different colored eyes, one blue and one half-brown, crazy and bright. 

He tilted his head, trailing the blade down over his jugular, pressing softly. He looked almost interested, eyes narrowing. 

The next moment something hit Craig in the side of the head and everything exploded into pain. 

His face was numb, his ears were ringing, and his body shivered. That fucking hurt, and he never even saw it coming. 

He grit his teeth cracked his eyes open, vision blurring as he realized the Barbarian was no longer on his chest and was instead screaming at another Barbarian that backed off, moved out of sight. 

The boy turned again, reaching down to grab Craig by the front of his tunic and pulling him up to sit. He took the pain, trying to steady himself and glaring at the boy. The world spun, and he had to keep himself from throwing up. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t-

“I know who sent you,” The boy said, into his ear, as Craig grit his teeth against the pain. “You can only find your way here if we let you. So.” 

He let him go and kicked Craig down, keeping his knife in his hand as he stood. 

“Go tell my parents it didn’t work!” He snarled, shoulder twitching oddly. “Tell them I’m stillFUCKINGalive and the great Feldspar thief couldn’t touch me.” The other Barbarians just watched, one of them nursing what looked like a broken nose. 

Craig’s body was shaking, but he stood, fighting off the wave of dizziness to keep his expression schooled, voice unbothered. 

“I’ll be back,” He promised, meaning every word. He did not get beaten. Not by anyone. Whatever he wanted, he took it. Treasure, money, life. It was his. His reputation was reknown, he was the greatest thief to ever live. He wasn’t going to be smacked down by some scrawny little blond who was fucking tiny compared to him. 

Once he had some choice words for his employers, he’d be back. They better give him a better weapon, too. He liked that knife, and wanted it back. 

The Chief sneered, baring his teeth like a wild animal. “If I ever see you again, I’ll skin you alive with your own knife,” His voice was even again, high-pitched, hoarse, but certain. Promising. 

Craig turned his back on him, just to annoy him, and walked straight into the woods without looking back. 

He’d be back. And he’d kill him this time.


End file.
